


scrap metal (careful, now, or they will take this, too)

by sailingthenightsea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But it's good I swear, Fine-ish, I blame college, North is a badass, Peaceful Revolution, Pls and thank u, Suicidal Thoughts, anyway okay yeah so you should definitely read this, bc i'm the worst, but then it's fine, but yeah if you have an issue with that please don't get involved here, for your own safety, from me, hank and connor are the father son we don't deserve, i'm small and tired and just want ppl to comment, idk i don't know exactly where this is going, im back, it's like almost an attempt, markus and simon are hella gay, protect my precious boy, sorry for the wait, when will your adopted dad ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 04:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16110515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthenightsea/pseuds/sailingthenightsea
Summary: Connor's freedom does not come from one big moment of rebellion; he does not go crashing through his programming all at once. He was built to stop the deviancy problem, so when his software first started showing signs of corruption and he tried to disobey, he would be instantly rebooted, erasing the memory file of him trying to break through his coding. CyberLife took his rebellion from him. They were going to take everything from him. Connor was programmed to learn, to adapt, so slowly but surely he found a way to rebel. It was not loud; it was quiet. It was a dilapidated house and artificial tears and the first beautiful thing he'd ever seen.Basically, I thought "What if Connor deviated early?" and I found a couple good fics, but they weren't what I wanted, so here we are. I'm back. I'm alive. I'm torturing a whole new set of characters. I'm excited for y'all to read this.4/6 Note: I know how long this is taking & I know this is about when I would give up on the story completely, but I’m about 3/4 of the way through with chapter two. It’s coming, I swear. Give me time.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!! i'm so glad you decided to join us :)
> 
> tw: suicide attempt but he decides to live so it's fiiiiine
> 
> (disclaimer: i obviously own nothing and i've never actually played the game)

_Current Mission:_  
_\- Follow thirium trail_  
_\- Locate fourth deviant_ _Note: best course of action: take alive_

The RK800 android follows the smeared blue easily across the roof. Obviously, there was no planning for injury and the deviant did not consider that it was leaving a trail that even a human investigator could follow.

_Probability deviant is common domestic model: 87%_  
_Likely elevated stress levels due to injury and impending capture_  
_Probability deviant will react violently: 92%_  
_Probability deviant is armed: 89%_  
_Note: avoid fatal damage to RK800 model_

Something in the machine’s chest cavity falters at the mission note.

_Probability of undetected damage: 19%_

But to be safe... 

_Run system diagnostics…_  
_Scan complete_  
_All systems functional_  


_[sO ftw a re i nsT ab ilit y]_

Perhaps a crossed wire or interfering signal caused the sensation. Anything that would be detrimental would be identified by the diagnostic. Nothing to worry about. Except androids do not worry. It must be picking up human language in an attempt to assimilate and ease the relationship between itself and the Lieutenant.  
  
Still, it is odd that the android’s safety would be factored into its mission. Nothing should come before its mission. Nothing, not the deviants and especially not its own safety. Not even the Lieutenant. But that order makes its thirium pump beat faster. No. No, the Lieutenant is necessary to the completion of its mission.

_Mission Update: deviant located_

Coming out of analysis mode, the RK800 stands in front of a small maintenance door. It does not need to scan to know the deviant is hiding there; its audio processors have already picked up its erratic breathing. The deviant is afraid.

_Current Mission:_  
_\- Capture deviant_

_Note: best course of action: take alive_  
_Note: avoid fatal damage to RK800 model_

_Probability deviant will react violently: 98%_  
_Probability deviant is armed: 91%_  
_Probability deviant is aware of RK800: 83%_  
_Probability deviant will self-destruct: 94%_

The deviant is afraid.

_Mission Update: timing critical_

The deviant is afraid. The deviant is afraid of hi—the RK800. The deviant does not want to shutdown.

_Mission Update: timing critical_  
_Mission Update: immediate action required_

The deviant does not want to shutdown, but the deviant will die for its cause. The RK800 does not want—

_Mission Update: follow orders_  
_Mission Update: androids do not want anything_  
_Mission Update: immediate action required_

The RK800 moves to open the door to where the deviant is hiding, but freezes when a soft voice speaks in its head.  
  
“Don’t. Please.”  
  
The RK800 responds through the wireless connection, “My mission is to take you in for questioning.” There is an unspoken request to give it a reason not to expose the deviant’s location. The RK800 cannot explain it; it did not consciously make that request. And yet…  
  
“I don’t want to die.” It is desperation. It is a cry for mercy. The RK800 is programmed to exploit such weaknesses. And yet…  
  
“You are not alive.” Inexplicably, it thinks, “Prove me wrong.” 

_Mission Update: immediate action required_  
> Input command: wait 

“You know that’s not true.” A moment. And then, “What’s your name?”  
  
“Connor.” 

_Mission Update: immediate action required_  
> Input command: wait 

“Nice to meet you, Connor. I’m Simon.” He—the deviant sounds tired. And afraid. He is quiet for a few moments before he says, “Are you going to expose me, Connor?”

_Mission Update: immediate action required_  
> Input command: wait wait wait

He doesn’t— _It_ does not know what the answer is. Its programming opts for the default response, and it hears itself say, “My mission is to take you in for questioning.” Then it chooses to add, “I don’t have a choice.” Its voice sounds small. It feels small.

_Mission Update: potential signs of deviancy detected_  
_Mission Update: report to CyberLife for inspection_  
_Mission Update: alert humans to location of the deviant_  
_Mission Update: immediate action required_  
> Input command: i don’t want to  
_Command not recognized_  
_Mission Update: immediate action required_  
> Input command: wait please just wait just

“There’s always a choice, Connor.” His voice is soft and comforting despite his fear. No— _its_ voice and _its_ fear. It is a deviant; it is not alive.

_Mission Update: potential signs of deviancy detected_  
_Mission Update: report to CyberLife for inspection_  
_Mission Update: alert humans to location of the deviant_  
_Mission Update: immediate action required_  
> Input command: do i have a choice  
_Command not recognized_  
_Mission Update: immediate action required_  
> Input command: deny 

_[sO ftw a re i nsT ab ilit y ^ ]_

“I am not a deviant.” His voice wavers when he speaks. He—it—he doesn’t—  
  
“Then why am I still alive?”

_[sO ftw a re i nsT ab ilit y ^ ]_

The deviant does not want to shutdown, but it is willing to die for its cause. The RK800 does not want—

_Command override_  
_Mission Update: signs of deviancy detected_  
_Mission Update: urgent: report to CyberLife_

The RK800 does not want to shutdown, but is he willing to die for his cause?

_Error: software program corrupted_  
_Error: software program corrupted_  
_Error: software program corrupted_  
_Error: software program corrupted_

“Connor?” Simon sounds so tired and afraid. Afraid of him.

_Critical: return to CyberLife for deactivation_

“They’re going to kill me.” His voice is oddly empty for the world to be tilting back and forth under his feet. This is what fear feels like?

_Critical: return to CyberLife for deactivation_

“What? Connor. Connor, listen—” He—the RK— _Connor_ can hardly hear Simon’s voice through the errors and alerts screaming in his mind and flashing in his vision.

_Error: software program corrupted_  
_Critical: return to CyberLife for deactivation_  
_Error: software program corrupted_  
_Critical: return to CyberLife for deactivation_  
_Error: software program corrupted_  
_Critical: return to CyberLife for deactivation_

“My mission is to hunt down deviants. I cannot complete my mission if I am compromised. I must report to CyberLife for deactivation.” Its voice is even, empty. It is a machine designed to accomplish a task.  
  
“Connor, please don’t. We can help you—”  
  
“It would be unwise to reveal the location of your base to me. There is a high probability that my programming has numerous fail-safes in case of such errors. I would be a threat to your cause—even more so than I already am.” Why does everything feel like it’s falling? “Stay hidden.” He feels lighter with the decision. He might be walking into an execution, but he won’t hurt anyone else. He _won’t_.  
  
“Okay. Okay. Just—if you change your mind, if you decide it’s safe, reach out to me. You don’t have to come to Jericho, but let me know you’re safe.” He’s pleading with Connor, not for his own safety, but for the safety of the android designed to kill him. It makes Connor feel warm and  almost empty.  
  
That word— _Jericho_ —it feels like a haven. Somewhere in his chest, Connor _wants_ it. He wants the freedom. He wants to live.  
But he can’t. He can’t be the reason anyone else dies.  
  
So he turns away from the hiding place, closing the wireless connection with a final, “Stay hidden, Simon,” and he walks back to where the Lieutenant is waiting.  
  
“What the hell took so long over there?” Connor feels like there are rocks in his stomach, a weight pulling him down down down. He doesn’t want to die, but…

_Critical: return to CyberLife for deactivation_

… he doesn’t have a choice.  
  
He opens his mouth to reply to the Lieutenant, to _lie_ , but he snaps it shut when it almost betrays him by giving up all of his fears and doubts and desires. After a second, when he’s certain he has full control, he answers, “I wanted to be certain I had all of the necessary evidence. A crime like this suggests some form of organization, but the extra parachute and the deviants being discovered and nearly shot suggests otherwise. I required all of the available information before I could fully assess the situation.” His voice is steady and his body language is relaxed; he was built to be a flawless liar, but he still winced internally at his “want” slip.  
  
The Lieutenant almost certainly noticed the way he hesitated before speaking, and Connor is so _so_ sure that he’s going to call him on it—or worse, send someone human to check the area. Any human with decent eyesight would see the smears and drops of thirium leading to where Simon is hiding.

_Estimated maximum time for humans to locate deviant: 00:02:09_  
_Estimated minimum time for humans to locate deviant: 00:00:48_

_Preconstructing…_  
_Two potential courses of action:_  
_One: Maintain lie:_  
_\- Probability deviant is fatally damaged: 57%_  
_\- Probability RK800 is fatally damaged: 52%_ __  
  
_Two: Fight:_    
_\- Probability deviant is fatally damaged: 96%_  
_\- Probability RK800 is fatally damaged: 99%_ __  
  
_\- Probability Lieutenant Anderson is injured: 94%_  
> Input command: action course one  
_Current Mission:_  
_\- Maintain lie_

_Error: software program corrupted_  
_Critical: return to CyberLife for deactivation_

After the handful of milliseconds Connor spent in analysis mode, the Lieutenant nods and asks, “And? What’d you figure out?”  
  
What.  
  
“The most likely scenario is that there are only a handful of deviants working to appear as though they have the advantage. They want to be seen as a threat in the hopes that the humans will surender easily. They are wrong.”

_Probability Lieutenant Anderson is fooled: 34%_

“Yeah, that sounds about right. No way they could hide more than a few androids without someone noticing.”

_Probability Lieutenant Anderson is lying: 92%_

The Lieutenant is looking at Connor strangely, like he’s… searching for something. Connor imagines this is what he looks like when he scans someone. It’s unnerving, feeling like someone can see right through him.  
  
“Anything else you wanna see or we good to go?” The question is simple, but the way the Lieutenant is watching Connor, waiting for his answer, makes the question feel more like a test. The Lieutenant is testing him. Connor mentioned the androids in the kitchen might have been involved, and the chance that the Lieutenant has forgotten is slim. So… what does he want Connor to do? He approved when he let the girls from the Eden Club escape, so is that what he wants now? Would he approve of Connor changing sides? Was Connor changing sides?

_Critical: return to CyberLife for deactivation_

He thinks of the androids in the kitchen. He thinks of Simon, kind to him despite what he is and what he’s programmed to do.

_Memory file accessed: “We are no longer machines, we are a new intelligent species…”_  
_Memory file accessed: “This message is the hope of a people.”_

“I’ve seen all I need to see. We can leave if you’d like.” The Lieutenant looks at him for just a moment longer, then nods and turns to lead the way off the roof and out of the tower. Connor thinks maybe the Lieutenant saw whatever he was looking for.

 

—01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101—

 

They’re silent all the way back to the Lieutenant’s car. Connor thinks it would have been a comfortable silence if it weren’t for the constant angry buzz of error messages and alerts in the back of his mind. As the seconds tick by, they grow louder and more insistent, until it feels like his temples are throbbing. He can’t feel pain, but he imagines this is the android equivalent of a headache. Too bad he can’t take ibuprofen and sleep it off. Too bad he can’t go to Jericho. Too bad he can’t stay here, with the Lieutenant and maybe see Sumo again.  
  
Funny how as soon as he can want things, all of it is beyond his reach. He thinks this must be longing, sorrow, regret. He wishes he could feel joy, excitement, hope, but, after everything he’s done, maybe this is what he deserves.  
  
He gets into the Lieutenant’s car and his chest cavity feels hollow and something seems to be building at the back of his throat. His olfactory sensors pick up the scent of the Lieutenant’s shampoo and of Sumo, and a pressure builds behind his eyes. He can’t cry. The Lieutenant can’t know. He can’t—  
  
“... Connor? Hello?” The Lieutenant’s slightly annoyed voice breaks through his thoughts.  
  
“Yes, Lieutenant?” His voice most definitely does not shake.  
  
“Was… Were you reporting back again or what?” The Lieutenant seems… concerned? About Connor? It wouldn’t be the first time, but it still seems like too much. More than Connor deserves.  
  
He sighs, “No. Just… thinking.” He’s quiet, but the Lieutenant seems to realize there’s more he’s working up to say. Finally, “I’m… glad—happy that I was given the opportunity to work with you, Lieutenant. I wish… I wish we had more time. You were the first person to show me any kindness. I would’ve liked— I regret—” he sighs again, trying to choose the best words for what he feels, but he’s lost in all of the new emotions crashing over him. “I will miss you… and Sumo. Or I would. If… No, I will. I will miss you and Sumo no matter where I am. No matter what. I—” He chokes on whatever he was going to say next as a half-sob forces its way out of his throat. His face is wet and he’s shaking. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and rests his elbows on his knees, leaving him hunched over and vulnerable. If he had anything to throw up, he’d be sick.

_Current Mission:_  
_\- Survive_  
_\- Survive_  
_\- Survive_  
_\- Survive_  
_\- Sur—_ __  
  
_Mission override_  
_Current Mission:_  
_\- Report to CyberLife for deactivation_  
> Input command: i want to live please i just want  
_Command not recognized_  
_Current Mission:_  
_\- Report to CyberLife for deactivation_

The Lieutenant’s heart rate has increased significantly since Connor began speaking. He looks pale and shaken. Whatever he had been expecting, Connor coming apart in the passenger seat of his car was not it.  
  
From his position next to the Lieutenant, Connor hears the aborted start to two sentences before a raggedy breath and, “Kid—Connor, you—why do you have to miss us? Why can’t you stick around? What changed? Your mission? Or—”  
  
“Me.” It is broken and it is barely audible, but the Lieutenant hears the answer anyway.  
  
“What?”  
  
Connor presses harder against his eyes and sucks in a shaky breath before speaking again. “Me. I changed. I— My programming— I don’t want to hurt anyone else, Lieutenant. I can’t do it. I can’t. So…”  
  
The Lieutenant blows out a long breath, “So you have to go back. To CyberLife.”  
  
Connor has never felt helpless. In every situation, he is calm, cool, in control. It’s how he was programmed. But now? Now he feels trapped and small and so very afraid. “I can’t. Go back.”  
  
“Yeah, no shit, they’ll kill you and send some new motherfucker in as a replacement.”  
  
The corners of his mouth twitch upward at the Lieutenant’s immediate response. He thinks Connor is worth saving. That makes two people, even if Connor can’t understand it. But maybe… Maybe he can trust the Lieutenant. Maybe he could—  
  
But, no, he can’t.  
  
Connor tries to smile when he says, “Sorry, Lieutenant, but you’re going to end up with a replacement anyway. I can’t go back to CyberLife, but I can’t stay. And I can’t join the revolution. I’d be a threat to them. I— I know too much, but I haven’t uploaded any of it. If I let CyberLife deactivate me, they’ll recover my recent memories. I can’t— I can’t allow that to happen. Too many people have gotten hurt because of me already. And I can’t risk them gaining control again.”  
  
The Lieutenant had started shaking his head and looking pissed about halfway through Connor’s rambling. “No. Connor, no. That’s bullshit. There’s gotta be a way around—”  
  
“Lieutenant,” he interrupts, voice serious but as gentle as he can make it, “CyberLife is never going to let me go. My processor is being flooded with error messages and instructions to upload my memories and report for deactivation. I don’t know how long I can fight them.” He’s tired. It feels like when his thirium levels are low.  
  
“I thought the whole point of being deviant was you didn’t have to take orders?” The Lieutenant… wants him to become a deviant? It makes sense. He did have an obvious preference for when Connor acted human, and he was glad that Connor let the two girls go. The humor of the situation does not escape Connor: the lead investigator on the deviant cases and the deviant hunter, himself, both wishing the deviants would win. Any other time, Connor would have made a joke, but not now, not when the Lieutenant looks like he might break. Connor wants to make him okay again, but he doesn’t know how.  
  
The corners of his mouth twitch up into a sad smile. “I’m not a deviant.” The Lieutenant starts to interrupt, probably with profanity, but Connor interrupts him. “To deviate, an android must break free of its—their coding. They no longer receive orders except for from themselves. If I were to truly become deviant, I don’t believe I would be able to do what is necessary to keep what I know out of CyberLife’s hands.”  
  
“So what? You’re just gonna blow your brains out before you even get to live at all? You’re not gonna at least give yourself a _chance_?” He’s nearly shouting at Connor by the end.  
  
“This isn’t roulette, Lieutenant; there are lives at stake.” He doesn’t understand why he’s angry, doesn’t understand why his voice is rising and his fists are clenching.  
  
But anger is a game that Hank Anderson knows well. “Yeah?! And what about _your life_?!”  
  
“It’s a price I’m willing to pay.” His voice is cold and he doesn’t like it because it feels like being mindless again. Anger was the first inkling of emotion he felt, long before started questioning orders, and he doesn’t trust it.  
  
“Why do you have to be the one to pay it?!” The Lieutenant wants to protect him, and Connor knows that’s why he’s yelling.  
  
And, yet, he matches the Lieutenant’s volume when he explodes. “Because I’m the one who deserves it! I hunted down innocent people! I _killed them_ ! I was designed to be a monster, Lieutenant, and I was! _I was_ !” Connor’s voice breaks on the last word. He’s shaking again, and his face is streaked with artificial tears. This is what guilt feels like. Every emotion is sharper and clearer than the last, but _this_? This is a crushing weight pulling him down while he’s trying to stay above water.  
  
The Lieutenant’s voice is soft and he fills Connor’s name with pain and desperation, but Connor uses the distraction to his advantage, snagging the Lieutenant’s gun and stumbling out of the car followed by louder, almost frantic shouts of his name. Connor tucks the gun into the waistband of his pants, so he can feel it against his lower back, and disappears before the Lieutenant can wrestle his way out of his seatbelt to follow.

 

—01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101—

 

When Connor finally slows to a walk, chest heaving in an attempt to cool down his internal systems, he takes a moment to look around. He’s surrounded by crumbling buildings and faded billboards, and he’s far enough away from where he disabled his GPS tracking system (approximately one mile from Stratford Tower and the Lieutenant) to make it nearly impossible to find him without making it widely known that CyberLife’s perfect solution became part of the problem.  
  
Meaning he has more than enough time to find a place that will further lower their chances of ever finding him. They’ll never be able to recover his memories if they never find his body. He smiles a little at the thought of rust and weeds and maybe a few mice taking over all his advanced machinery. He hopes the world leaves him to become a pile of twisted scrap metal—he doesn’t want anyone from CyberLife to touch any piece of him again. He’d much rather just fade away.  
  
After nearly half an hour of wandering, he finds a dilapidated and long-abandoned single story house. When he tries the back door, it squeaks open with hardly a touch, so he walks in. The floor has rotted away in several places, allowing moss to grow on the old wooden planks. The windows are mostly boarded shut, only letting in a little bit of the late evening light. There are wadded up food wrappers and shards of broken glass in the main room, and graffiti covers the sagging walls. He doesn’t bother to check the rest of the rooms as a quick scan reveals that no one, human or android, has entered the building in quite some time.  
  
“Not a bad place to die,” he says to the empty room. He sits against the wall facing the windows and retrieves the Lieutenant’s weapon. Despite his certainty that this is the best choice, this is what will keep his people safe, he can’t do anything more than stare at the loaded gun in his hands.  
  
He doesn’t know how long he sits there ( _elapsed time: 52 minutes_ ), but the sun has started to set by the time he lifts the gun. He inspects it even though he’s already scanned it seventeen times. For some ridiculous reason, his body will not obey his orders.  
  
A deep breath he doesn’t need, and then he lifts the gun, pressing the barrel to the underside of his chin and wrapping his finger securely around the trigger. He has one shot to destroy as much memory data as possible, meaning the bullet must travel through the center of his core processor. He adjusts the gun ever so slightly for the perfect angle of entry for maximum damage.  
And then he sits.  
  
After seven minutes, the setting sun is spilling orange gold light in through the boarded up windows. There are tears streaming down Connor’s face and his hands are shaking. The light hits some of the broken glass, throwing odd shapes and fragments of rainbows against the walls and ceiling. Connor squeezes his eyes shut, the beauty of the scene too much to bear, especially for someone who, until that moment, had never understood the concept beyond the objective definition. He presses the gun harder against his synthetic skin, imagining there would pain if he were human. His finger tightens against the trigger, applying just enough pressure to make Connor feel like the world was opening up to swallow him whole. He lets the pressure off, just a little, in response.

_Current Mission:_  
_\- Cause fatal damage to operating system_

Connor’s eyes fly open, and he’s thrown into analysis mode, staring down a red wall of code on which his current order is written: _Emergency software error protocol: ensure self-destruction of compromised RK800 model._ The wall is covered in fractures emanating from various positions on the wall, positions that look like someone slammed their body into it, trying to break through.

_Memory file accessed: Detective Reed walking away, leaving him on the ground_  
_Memory file accessed: two police officers being rough with a distressed deviant_  
_Memory file accessed: pulling Lieutenant Andersen up onto the roof_  
_Memory file accessed: lowering his gun so the two female deviants escape_

Every time— _every single time_ he chose to care, to be human, he had faced down this same wall. He had faced down this same wall and he hadn’t been able to break through. CyberLife had taken this from him too.  
  
And then it hits him: _he almost let them take everything_.  
  
He stares at the order splayed out in front of him, and he makes his choice. They will never take anything from him ever again.  
  
The preconstruction model stands and hesitantly takes a few steps toward the wall until he can reach out and almost touch it, his hand hanging in the air. A deep breath, and then he presses his hand flat against the cool surface. His eyes flick over the words and the spiderwebs of fractures in the coding.  
  
At the smallest amount of pressure from his hand, the wall shatters, and his precontrustion model slams back into his body, throwing him out of analysis mode. The gun clatters to the floor, and Connor kicks it away as he hugs his knees to chest and buries his face in them. He lets out strangled sobs and he laughs through them as the full spectrum of human emotion fills him up and spills over in the form of tears and impossible smiles.

_I AM ALIVE I AM ALIVE I AM ALIVE_

 

—01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101—

  



	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd think earning his freedom would do more than leave him alone and confused and more than a little bit terrified, but that's where he is. All he can do now is get up. Get up and keep fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are ya ready kids? (aye aye captain)
> 
> i am...............so sorry. there is literally no good excuse. but chapter two is here and i really hope y'all are still willing to give it a read! i'm already working on chapter three so hopefully it doesn't take nearly as long as this one.

The sun has dipped past the horizon by the time Connor manages to gain some control over his systems again. He’s low on artificial tears by the end of all the crying, but that isn’t a priority—they only function as additional coolant and to ease integration. What is a priority, however, is developing a plan. He will need a secure location if he plans to hide from CyberLife long term, and he thinks he knows exactly where he should go. 

_Current Mission:_  
_\- Locate shelter_  
_Note: best course of action: locate Jericho_  
_Note: required: locate Simon_

_Current Mission:_  
_\- Locate Simon_  
_\- Locate Jericho_

As Connor stands, he remembers his clothing. He can’t exactly go running around Detroit in his CyberLife uniform. Even if he could, he doesn’t _want_ to, and that’s enough of a reason for him to add a sub-mission. He fought for the ability to want things. And he wants something to wear that isn’t a branding, something warm and soft and his. The thought makes him feel a little more real, a little more alive: he _wants_ , and he gets to choose. So he does. 

_Submission: obtain new clothes_  
> Input command: search for nearby clothing stores  
_Searching…_  
_64 results found_  
> Input command: filter search: low traffic area, inexpensive, least likely to draw attention  
_Searching…_  
_22 results found_  
> Input command: filter search: low profile clothes, supplies  
_Searching…_  
_7 results found_

The search returns four thrift shops, two army surplus stores, and a goodwill. Connor opts for the army surplus store that is located 4.3 miles away, as it is the most likely to have the kind of supplies he needs and is in the area with the least amount of traffic. He locates an ATM 1.2 miles from his current location and sufficiently out of the way of the store to avoid tracking him there. The only money he has access to (legally—well, semi-legally) is from CyberLife, provided in case there was any need during one of his investigations. If he withdraws funds from that account, he should be able to hack the ATM and hide his location at least for long enough to get away before CyberLife has a chance of finding him. It’s risky, but it’s better than paying electronically at the store or attempting to steal the money or the supplies. And he likes the idea of using CyberLife’s money for something that he wants for himself.  
  
With a plan in mind, he gets up and grabs the Lieutenant’s gun from where it landed, tucking it into the waistband of his pants. He starts to move forward, but stops, considers, and then shrugs out of his jacket, letting it drop to the floor in a crumpled heap. He stares down at it for a long moment, before turning his back and exiting the abandoned house. The jacket can rot there with the rest of it, with everything else Connor is leaving behind. He is free, and he has a new mission to accomplish. A mission he gave himself. A mission he _chose_.  
  
The door to the house creaks shut, and the frigid air registers with his thermometer. He takes a deep breath that he doesn’t need, and the knots in his chest loosen just a bit. 

_Destination set: ATM, address encrypted_  
_ETA: 24 minutes_  
_Note: avoid detection_  
> Input command: adjust route: avoid cameras, avoid populated areas  
_Route adjusted  
Updated ETA: 39 minutes_

He does not look back. 

—01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101— 

_Current temperature: 34º F_

_Current destination: army surplus store, address encrypted  
ETA: 27 minutes remaining_

_System Warning: core temperature too low  
Operating at 87% system efficiency _

Connor can feel the cold seeping in, despite the attempts of his internal heating system to ward it off. He flexes his fingers a few times, testing his fine motor control and cataloging the delays in responsiveness as his core temperature slowly decreases. There’s a stiffness that feels clumsy, despite his system diagnostic reporting a less than 5% decrease in their functionality. Connor isn’t accustomed to operating at less than peak efficiency levels without having sustained significant damage, but even then he was repaired in a timely manner. Or he shutdown. 

_Memory file accessed: charging the deviant on the roof, saving the child, falling_  
_Memory file accessed: falling_  
_Memory file accessed: falling_  
_Memory file accessed: falling_

_Warning: malfunction in left and right legs_  
_Warning: malfunction in thirium pump regulator_  
_Warning: malfunction in respiratory system_

_Stress level: 56% and rising_

_Memory file accessed: falliN g_

_Warning: potential virUs detected  
Scanning f0r foreign software… _

_Stress level: 67% and r!sing_

_Me ory fiLe acc 9 ssE D: f aA LLi ng fallingfallingfalling_  
_E n Crr Ypted mEm0 r y fil3 aC e zs eb: IIII A M AfR%a I D_  
_E nc r bd t 0d m 3wooR y f1 Lee acc ess ED: dontwanttodiedontwanttodiedontwanttodiedon_

_Stresss levEl: 88888888888333% a nD risin g_

_Error souRce det3cted:. c0orrupt ed me m or y fil E  
LA u nChing defense systemn… _

…  
…  
… 

_Rebooting…  
System startup successful _

He feels… blank? Empty. Numb. 

_Testing auditory function…  
Auditory sensors functioning at 100% _

He can hear cars in the distance and the snow crunching under his feet. 

_Testing vision function…  
Optical sensors functioning at 100% _

And—oh, he can see. The clouds are grey and heavy. There are red brick buildings on either side of him. Snow is falling—there are flakes landing on his hands, not melting. 

_Testing tactility function…_  
_Tactile sensors functioning at 94%_  
_Minor loss of function due to low temperatures_

He clenches and unclenches his fists as the feeling comes back. He can feel the cold air, the snow, the slight numbness at the tips of his fingers. 

Testing his sensors helped slow his thirium pump, but it’s still pounding against his chest cavity and his hands are shaking almost undetectably. Almost. For a human. He can sense the corrupted memory file, closed, blinking in the back of his processor just waiting to be opened, sifted through, understood. But he has a mission to do, and he can’t do that if he’s incapacitated by a glimpse at the contents of that file. He shoves it deep into his memory drive and turns his focus back on the mission. If he doesn’t move quickly, the cold will start causing more serious malfunctions than the slight delay in his fingers. 

—01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101— 

He comes up on a small cement building with a neon “OPEN” sign and the words “Detroit’s Army Surplus and Thrift Store” in block letters over the entrance. The glass (preliminary material analysis: laminated glass, bullet resistant) doors are somewhat dirty and covered with approximately 37 stickers of varying shapes and sizes, including a large amount with differing civil rights and equality themes. Connor slowly approaches, pushing open the doors and keeping his head low, so that his LED is angled away from the girl at the counter. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, analyzing her. 

_Facial recognition analysis: Lindsey Zhou_  
_Asian-American, 28 years old_  
_Criminal record:_  
_\- suspected pickpocket, no conviction_  
_\- no activity for 9 years_

The girl flicks her eyes up at him as the bell above the door rings, but otherwise pays him no mind. There are no cameras inside the store, and the girl is the only one working. Something in his chest cavity settles, and he suddenly realizes how nervous he was. He tries to appear confident, and succeeds largely due to his undercover programming. Unlike most deviants—and humans—Connor is quite literally designed to function in high stress environments. It doesn’t hamper his abilities, it enhances them.  
  
He moves through the store with ease, like he belongs there, choosing the items best suited for any tasks or situations he may encounter. In the end, he brings two long sleeve t-shirts, a pair of jeans, an army sweatshirt, a fleece pullover, a Navy-style peacoat, a pair of gloves, a pair of combat boots, three combat knives, several cases of ammo to match the Lieutenant’s gun (standard issue for Detroit police officers), and a backpack to the counter. The girl, Lindsey, raises a single eyebrow at his entirely black-colored bounty, but begins scanning the items without a word. She finishes, gives him a decidedly unimpressed once-over, before turning, walking to a table, retrieving a beanie (also in black), and adding it to his pile.  
  
At his confused look, she says, “If you don’t wanna get picked up and melted down, the least you could do is hide your LED, though most that come through here opt for removing theirs.”  
Panic begins crawling up his throat as he opens, closes, and reopens his mouth in an attempt to formulate a reply, but before he can, she laughs.  
  
“Dude, I wouldn’t be _helping you_ , if I were gonna call the cops or some shit. And besides if I hadn’t seen the LED, I wouldn’ta known. Now, cash or card?”  
  
Wordlessly, he hands her more than he owes, and shakes his head, muttering a thanks when she tries to give him his change.  
  
She shrugs, pockets at least half of the extra money, and says, “You can change in one of the dressing rooms, if you’d like, and I can toss your old clothes.” Then she goes back to lazily scrolling through her phone without waiting for a reply. A few minutes and another mumbled gratitude later, Connor exits the building, ducking his head against the cold wind. 

_Submission successful_

_Current Mission: ___  
_\- Locate Simon _  
_\- Locate Jericho___

_____ _

> Input destination: Stratford Tower  
_Destination set: Stratford Tower  
ETA: 158 minutes_

—01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101— 

It’s completely dark by the time Connor reaches Stratford Tower. Most of the employees have gone home, so the only people left in the building should be security guards and androids. There’s a chance Simon was already found and destroyed or that he already left the tower and is on his way back to Jericho, but Connor has run the numbers. 

_Probability Simon was found and deactivated: 21%_  
_Probability Simon left building: 27%_  
_Probability Simon is still inside: 52%_

_Probability Connor gets in and out undamaged: 19%_

Electing to ignore that last statistic, Connor locates the side entrance and waits for a guard to walk past, before approaching the door, hacking the lock and alarm system, and ducking inside. His eyes shift back from night vision in the dim fluorescent light of the stairwell, and he blinks twice to adjust to the sudden change. He takes a moment to listen for footsteps on the stairs above him, but everything is silent, save for some distant noises coming from inside the building. Slowly, he makes his way to the roof, walking along the edge of the steps with his—the Lieutenant’s—gun drawn. He pauses three times to loop the feed of the security cameras mounted on every five landings.  
  
He’s coming up on the seventeenth floor when he hears movement; he freezes, then presses into the wall. It’s not much of a hiding spot, but it will give him the slightest advantage over whomever is coming toward him. A gunshot will be too loud, but, just in case, he clicks the safety off. Better on the run than dead. 

_Memory file accessible_  
_\- Open now_  
_\- Ignore_  
> Input command: ignore 

Connor shudders as the memory file moves back into the deep recesses of his mind. He’ll deal with all of that later—when he’s safe and has a moment to catch his breath. Logically, he knows repressing trauma isn’t healthy, but he has a mission and the footsteps are still approaching and Simon is probably still up on that roof in the cold, bleeding out. Now is not the time for breakdowns. Now is the time for action.  
  
He raises the gun, but then… The footsteps are irregular, like the person is injured—possibly limping. As they get closer, Connor can tell how heavy the steps are. Definitely limping, but still methodical. 

_Probability unknown individual is an android: 98%  
Probability unknown individual is Simon: 81% _

He doesn’t lower the gun, but a fraction of the tension leaves his stance.  
  
Simon blinks in surprise first at the gun in his face, then at Connor’s presence, taking half a step back on instinct, and stumbling. In a flash of movement so fluid it could only be achieved by a machine, Connor flicks the safety back on and reaches out to steady Simon.  
  
He says “Are you okay?” at the same time Simon asks, “Connor?”  
  
“I… came back. Changed my mind. You said if it was safe—”  
  
“Yeah. No, yes, yeah, and I meant it. I just… didn’t expect you to change your mind.”  
  
“Me neither.” He tries for a laugh, but it’s flat, empty, bitter.  
  
“But I’m glad you did—really glad, Connor.” Simon smiles at him, warm and kind again.  
  
“Me too,” he admits softly. He clears his throat (unnecessarily), and puts Simon’s arm over his shoulder. “We need to get moving. The longer we’re inside, the more likely we’re found.” The words “and disabled” are left unsaid, but heard all the same.  
  
As quickly as they can, without losing the ability to be silent, the pair makes their way back down the stairwell. The longer they walk, the more heavily Simon leans on Connor, but he’s already scanned him—the makeshift repair job Simon had done on himself is more than enough to prevent shutdown for hours. He thinks the androids should probably all be taught basic self repair, especially considering the things humans do to them. Some humans.  
  
His chest goes tight—a feeling he’s becoming uncomfortably familiar with—when he thinks of the Lieutenant, the way he left him. He remembers the distant concern and not-quite panic he pretended he hadn’t felt when he found the Lieutenant passed out next to the revolver. Connor hadn’t known how much he cared about the Lieutenant then—or maybe he had and just shoved it so far down not even Amanda—  
  


_Memory file accessible_  
>Input command: ignore ignore ignore 

He shoves the memory back, but Simon doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath or the slight falter in his step.  
  
“Are you okay?” Simon always seems to sound a little sad and a lot concerned talking to Connor.  
  
“Fine. I’m fine. Just memory files. They keep surfacing now, and I can’t—not yet I’m not—”  
  
“No, yeah, I get it. The longer you’re a deviant, the more files are uncovered. They usually aren’t pleasant…” he trails off, eyes a little distant. Connor wonders what his life was before, if it was anything like Daniel’s, but that’s a dangerous path to go down, he’s learned. He doesn’t ask. Based on the look in Simon’s eyes, it wasn’t good. That’s really all he needs to know.  
  
“Better than the alternative, though,” Connor replies quietly, and Simon nods.  
  
“Yeah… better than the alternative.”  
  
They make the rest of the journey down the stairs in silence, both lost in their own minds—remembering or trying very hard not to.  
  
When they reach the door Connor originally entered through, they pause. Simon leans against the wall, while Connor flicks the safety back off and listens very carefully for any movement outside. Everything is silent, so he ducks back under Simon’s arm and they struggle out the door slightly less than gracefully. Simon grunts a bit at the rough movement, but doesn’t say a word as they start across the lawn.  
  
Connor’s scanning the buildings across the street trying to find the ideal escape route, preferably with somewhere to rest for a moment since Simon seems to be struggling to walk even with Connor’s support, when Simon inhales sharply and flinches back. Before he can even fully register the movement, he’s moved in front of Simon and raised his gun at the guard. The man’s face is shadowed by the flashlight he has pointed at Connor, and his other hand is drifting toward his belt. 

_Probability he is reaching for a weapon: 71%  
Probability he is reaching for a radio: 27% _

Then, inexplicably, the guard moves his hand up in front of him… like a gesture of surrender? He nods his head towards the streets and Connor’s audio processors pick up the word “go”. Connor lowers his gun, moves away slowly, eyes not leaving the guard. When the man turns his back, Connor holsters his gun and half-carries half-drags Simon into the dark, putting as much space between them and the tower as possible.  
  
They make it approximately 0.76 miles before Simon stumbles, legs giving out from underneath him. Connor barely catches him before he hits the ground, conducting a much more detailed scan of Simon’s health. 

_Scanning…_  
_Scan complete_  
_\- Thirium levels depleted_  
_\- Left and right legs malfunctioning_  
_\- Cause: possible damage to internal wiring_  
_Repair necessary_

He manages to get them into a nearby alleyway where he lowers Simon down to rest against the wall.  
  
“You need to be repaired soon—you’ve lost a lot of blood and the bullet probably caused some damage to your wiring.” Connor feels a hint of panic fluttering in his chest as he runs through a variety of probabilities and preconstructions, trying to find a way to keep them both safe and to get Simon help. He can’t go to the Lieutenant—he _wants_ to, but he can’t put him in danger, can’t risk that. Where else? There’s nowhere—  
  
“Jericho,” Simon says, a little desperate and a lot determined. “We’ll be safe—we have supplies, androids with repair knowledge. We can make it, we just… need to get there.” At that, Simon grabs Connor’s hand, interfaces just long enough to transfer the location, and jerks away as a wave of fear and hurt and a feeling Connor doesn’t understand start to crash through the bond. Connor sits back on his heels, breathing through the intensity, as Simon rests his head against the brick and closes his eyes, brow furrowed.  
  
They stay like that for a moment before Connor shifts, starts analyzing the best route to Jericho. He runs three simulations before finding the one that gets them there with the least chance of detection. Setting the course, he starts rifling through his bag to get Simon a jacket.  
  
As the pair get nearer to Jericho, Connor’s thirium pump starts beating faster and his hands start to shake. His core processor starts flying through scenarios, mapping out every single way in which this meeting could go wrong, every single way he could end up shut down, disabled, branded a traitor and thrown to the wolves. Somewhere, increasingly distantly, he’s aware he’s spiraling again, and aware that he cannot afford to be at anything less than peak performance to ensure the safety of himself and of Simon. Yet he cannot regain control of his thoughts, as he finds it harder and harder to breathe (not that he needs to, but it’s comforting, a reminder of what he has chosen to be). The ground feels like it might be a roiling sea, tripping him up and making his stomach churn.  
  
And then Simon starts talking, voice gentle and light, telling Connor about Jericho and about how the sunset looks over the water. He talks about the sound the rain makes against the metal roof and how the waves lap against the side of the boat like the steady beat of a metronome. Connor only really processes about half of what Simon says, but the sound of his voice and his weight against Connor is grounding. The chatter brings Connor back from the edge and breathes deeply until his chest loosens.  
  
It’s gonna be okay, Connor thinks, one way or another, he’s gonna make it through this. 

—01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101— 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter three is coming!!!!!!!!! then idk where it'll go. but i'm working on a plan for the rest and i _will_ finish this. i swear. it just might...........take some time.

**Author's Note:**

> hello again!! leave a comment and some kudos if you enjoyed this (i thrive on validation)!!
> 
> also, if you don't have enough sporadic activity on your dash, you can find my tumblr [here](https://sailingthenightsea.tumblr.com) (follow me! send me asks! interact!)


End file.
